The Day of the Indigo Bunting
by musashihazmat84
Summary: A conversation between Ivy and Alice Hunt leads to an explanation of the day everyone in the village knows...the day Ivy lost her sight.


Author's Note: Most of this story takes place before Ivy lost her sight, and before Lucius stopped talking. **I had some fun with the Elders, because when they're by themselves who says they have to talk like it's 1897?** **Don't forget, all the Elders grew up around the 1950's-60's, so when the other villagers aren't around they don't have to keep up with that game of pretense**. Someone said that the dialogue is not at all what it's like in the movie, well, I don't agree except for the part with the elders, which I already explained. **If people took the time to read author's notes, well, they're there for a reason.** And Mrs. Walker? She's pregnant and psycho, and we hardly saw her in the movie, and since the movie's not out on DVD, how the hell are we supposed to watch it again to make sure we got everything right? **Kudos to everyone brave enough to write a fanfic before it's out on DVD or VHS.** Hope you all like this… please read & review: it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside…most of the time.

2013 update: fixed formatting issues. I love that I mentioned VHS in my author's note, hahahahahaha!

The Day of the Indigo Bunting

by Musashihazmat84

Ivy Walker wrung the hot water out of the fresh bandages for her beloved, who lay upstairs drifting in and out of consciousness, or so the good doctor told them. Lucius' mother, Alice Hunt, worked beside her, washing the blood out—not only because it carried germs, but because blood was the Bad Color.

Ivy only heard Alice's sigh of frustration, and felt the splash of hot water across her sleeve and onto her lap. "Do not fret, Mrs. Hunt," she said, "I'm confident Lucius will recover."

Alice's chair creaked she shuffled about. "You cannot be sure of that."

"But I can," Ivy said, watching Alice's hazy color pace back and forth in front of her, "Lucius' color has become much more vibrant since I returned from the Towns."

Alice's color stopped moving. "I never understood how you can see color, yet you see nothing else."

Ivy smiled. "I cannot explain it, Mrs. Hunt."

Alice's chair creaked once again as her color settled, and Ivy felt around for another damp rag to dip into the water. "Lucius' color is the first color I saw."

"I've heard."

"Do you not wish to know what it is? Lucius does."

"You haven't told him?"

"No," Ivy said, wringing out another bandage, "I want to tell him on our wedding day, but I cannot use words to describe it…it is so beautiful. I want my dress to be that color; I want Lucius and I to be the same color, when the day comes."

"If the color is not white…"

"I do not care what I wear, Mrs. Hunt, as long as Lucius can see me the way I see him."

"Well, if you do not tell anyone what his color is, how can anyone make your dress?"

Ivy laughed. "Since you will be my mother-in-law, I do plan to tell you," she said, "It is just so difficult…it is not just a simple color…I cannot say blue, because it is not the color of the sky, and I cannot say green, because it definitely isn't the color of grass."

Water splashed as Alice washed the bandages. "Have you ever seen this color before the day you lost your sight?"

"Oh yes…" Ivy said, "I saw it for the first time the day it happened."

"The day what happened?"

"The day Lucius stopped talking…and he saw it too."

The children had noticed it first, from the moment they stepped onto their porches, and with tears in their eyes, ran back into their mother's aprons. Most of the mothers looked around, and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, ushered their young ones back out into the cool autumn morning.

Nine-year-old Lucius Hunt decided to take the first brave step, breaking into a run towards Edward Walker's schoolhouse where he and his pretentious daughter Ivy and her annoying sister Kitty were just arriving for the day. Mr. Walker gave Lucius and the other children an unapproving glance as they nearly ran him over, pleading for him to unlock the schoolroom faster.

Once inside, all the children took their seats, panting and pale.

"Good morning, class," Mr. Walker began, "Is something the matter? You all look so worried!"

Lucius rose from his seat and walked to the window. "Are you blind, Mr. Walker?"

Mr. Walker looked taken aback by Lucius' question as he walked to the window. "Calm down, Lucius, I see nothing out of the ordinary…"

"No, I'm not going to calm down, Mr. Walker, not when the new trees we planted this past summer are blazing red!"

The whole class gasped.

"T-t-the Bad Color," Lucius said, "Forgive me."

Ivy ran to the window, her little shoes clacking against the hardwood floods, shoving past Lucius and her father. Lucius crossed his arms, frowning as he watched her; the six-year-old was the talk of the town_. "Oh, that Ivy Walker is such a pretty little girl," they say, "and she's so bright."_ The only thing they ever said about him was that he was blessed or cursed with the gift of gab, depending on who you asked.

Ivy's clear eyes grew wide as she peered through the glass panes. "Father," she said anxiously, "He is right! What shall we do?"

Mr. Walker frowned. "I'm afraid I need to call a meeting of the Elders right away," he said, "We will not be having class today."

No one moved from their seats—no one even dared to breathe.

"As much as it pains you to be in the presence of the Bad Color, you all must go home and tell your parents that the Elders and I are now aware of the issue and will deal with it accordingly."

The children sluggishly began to shuffle about.

"Oh, Lucius?" Mr. Walker asked.

"Yes, Mr. Walker?"

"Would you be so kind as to take Ivy and Kitty home?"

Lucius sighed, disappointed. "Yes, Mr. Walker."

Edward Walker shut the Council House door as the last Elder, Alice Hunt, arrived to the meeting.

"All right," he said, "Let's have a show of hands…how many of us _didn't_ notice that our new trees turned bright red?"

All the hands slowly went up as each Elder tried to stifle their laughter, Edward included.

"So what do we do about it?" he asked, "The trees will only be red for a week or so…"

"We should take them down," Alice said, "or else we'll be faced with this every year."

Edward shook his head. "I really don't want to resort to that; what happens if other trees turn that color next year?" he asked, "What happens if all the trees surrounding our village and Covington Wood are a fiery red next year?"

"Then that's Covington Wood," Mr. Percy said, "The important thing is that it's not in our village."

"But the children planted those trees themselves," Edward said, "It would break their hearts to see them cut down."

"They'll get over it," his wife, Tabitha, said, "The important thing is that we stick to our end of the bargain. The Bad Color is the Bad Color, no matter what."

"Oh, this is why we should have chosen blue as the Bad Color…"

Mr. Percy shot an annoyed look at his wife. "The _sky_ is blue, Vivian, or have you forgotten?"

Edward rolled his own eyes, and turned toward his own wife. "So what happens if some cardinals decide to make their nests here? Or what if a red fox comes into the clearing—are we supposed to shoot them all because they're the 'Bad Color'?"

Alice gasped. "Mr. Walker!"

"I'm sorry," he said, turning back to the group, "I didn't think before speaking. But what are we supposed to do? What if someone in our village gives birth to a redhead? If Ivy's color got any darker she could almost be considered a strawberry blonde."

Mrs. Walker began to tap her foot on the floor impatiently. "There are ways of covering that up."

Edward glanced back at her, noticing just how much gray invaded her once-blonde locks. "You're forgetting, my dear, that we didn't exactly bring hair dye with us."

"I didn't mean that," she said, "I meant to make them wear a scarf or some sort of head covering."

"That's discrimination!" Mr. Percy said, "We agreed that there was no basis for that here!"

"So what are we supposed to do?" Mrs. Walker shrieked, jumping from her seat, "Tell the children that now there is no bad color? What the hell will they think?"

"Calm down, Tabitha…"

"Don't you tell me to calm down, Edward—you should have known what to do the second you saw those leaves instead of calling a ridiculous meeting such as this! Now, if you all want to sit here and waste your time, that's fine by me. I'm going home."

Everyone watched open-mouthed as she stormed from the Council House.

"God, her pregnant mood swings are so much worse than her normal ones," Mr. Percy said, chuckling. "May God have Mercy on you, Edward."

The rest of the Elders laughed as Edward rose. "Well, what do you say we sleep on this? If I don't follow her there might be more hell to pay."

One of the Elders made a whipping noise and he laughed, running his hand through his hair, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks. "Tomorrow morning we'll convene here and decide once and for all what we're going to do."

"I've never seen such a thing," Ivy said to Lucius as they sat in a field some distance from the trees. He honestly didn't know why she insisted on following him everywhere, sitting with him, and talking his ear off—which was amazing considering how much he loved to talk…

"How can you have never seen the Bad Color?" he asked, "It is the color of Those We Don't Speak Of."

She smiled. "You don't know how I long to see one of them."

"What?"

"You heard me," she said, looking him in the eye, "I've never _seen_ Those We Don't Speak Of—my sister and I are always placed in the cellar before they come close enough for us to see them."

Lucius shook his head. "How can you actually _wish_ to see them?!"

"Have you?"

He opened his mouth, ready to say "Of course!" but come to think of it, he never actually _had_ seen them, only heard what they looked like from his mother and the other Elders. "No," he said, "And I don't want to."

"Well I do."

It was that moment that Lucius decided that Ivy Walker was more crazy than Noah Percy, who sat at the base of the farthest tree of the Bad Color, tossing the fallen leaves in the air.

"Look at Noah," he said as Ivy turned toward the trees.

"If his parents see that, they'll make him sit in the Quiet Room."

"I don't see why they bother," Lucius said, "It never does him any good. He's so obsessed with the Bad Color."

Ivy shrugged and continued to stare in Noah's direction, but Lucius turned away. "You'd best not stare," he said.

"Oh, hush, Lucius," she said, "Noah can't tell, he's too far away."

"But it's impolite!"

"What's that in the trees?"

Lucius turned, his heart leaping into his chest—what if Those We Don't Speak Of were emerging from the woods to punish the town? He saw nothing… "Ivy, what is it?"

"That bird!" she said, "The one in the trees with the Bad Color!"

He strained his eyes, squinting. "I don't see it."

"How can you not?" she asked, "It's the most beautiful blue I've ever seen…and so beautiful there in the tree!" She began to walk, then run towards it, and he saw it now—a bird more bright than the sky, just sitting in the tree branches in striking contrast to the Bad Color—and Ivy was going near it…that foolish little girl!

"Ivy, don't go near the Bad Color!" he warned, raising his voice, running after her.

"I told you to hush, Lucius Hunt!" she yelled, slightly turning her head back as she ran, "You're going to scare it away! Be quiet!"

It was that moment she disappeared in the tall grasses, her shriek cut short with a sickening thud.

He caught up to her quickly—and she was laying so still in the grass… "Ivy?"

What was she up to now? He knelt beside her; why wouldn't she move? Was she breathing? "Ivy?"

No answer.

His heart began to race, his breathing faster; tears sprang to his eyes. "Ivy Elizabeth Walker!" he cried, shaking her, "You answer me right this minute! You don't want to go to the Quiet Room, do you? _Ivy!? Answer me!_"

It was that moment he saw the Bad Color painting the grass scarlet, the blood trickling from Ivy's forehead, matting her hair, staining the rock she'd landed on…he shook her more, screaming her name over and over.

Footsteps crashed through the grass, and Noah's shadow fell across them.

"Uh oh…the Bad Color…" he mumbled, "You're in trouble."

"I don't care!" Lucius cried, "Get help!"

"What?"

"_Just get Mr. Walker!_"

Noah wandered off through the grass, and Lucius turned back to Ivy, brushing her hair away from her forehead, smearing the blood in streaks. "Ivy…I'm so sorry…"

Her eyelids fluttered, ever so slightly, and she groaned. "Lucius…?"

"Ivy…"

"Lucius," she opened her eyes, but they didn't focus on anything, just stared straight ahead. "Lucius, I can't see you! Where are you?"

His heart stopped. "Ivy, I'm here."

Her hand flailed out searching, and he grabbed it. "Ivy, I am _here_!"

"Why can't I see you?"

"I don't know! What can you see?"

She smiled; Lucius wasn't sure if it was a grimace of pain or something else. "Blue…" she said, "The same color blue as the bird…everywhere!"

Lucius looked around, to the trees where the bird had been, and it was gone. The Bad Color surrounded them, from the trees above to Ivy's blood below, and when he turned back to her to tell her the bird was gone, her eyes were closed, and all he could do was cry.

Edward Walker stood from his daughter's bedside as the doctor and Tabitha motioned for him to step into the hall. Once there, he closed Ivy's door, so the sleeping child would not wake.

"Well, Victor," Edward asked, "Will she be all right?"

"I'm afraid not," he said, "placing his stethoscope in his bag, "If I had the equipment I could assess the level of brain damage…"

"From a simple fall?" Edward asked, "Children fall all the time and nothing serious comes of it—just scrapes and bruises!"

"This is more than a scrape or bruise, Edward!" Tabitha cried, "Ivy hit her head on a jagged rock, and now she is blind—I would hardly call that a little scrape or bruise!"

Edward gasped. "Blind? Victor—is what she said true?"

The doctor's frown grew deeper as he nodded. "Ivy hasn't seen anything since this afternoon, and I doubt she ever will again."

"How is this possible?" he said, "I never heard of such a thing!"

"This is all your fault!" Tabitha hissed, "If you hadn't cancelled class then Ivy and Lucius would not have been playing in that field!"

"Damn it, Tabitha! This could have happened at any time, not just…" he was silenced by a knock on the door, and left his wife and the doctor in the hall as he went to answer it.

His feelings of relief were banished by the sight of unshed tears in Alice Hunt's eyes. "How is Ivy?" she asked, "Lucius and I are worried about her."

He shook his head. "Victor said she is blind."

"Permanently?"

He wiped tears from his own eyes. "I'm afraid so…"

"Edward, I'm so sorry…"

Turning away, he looked toward Ivy's room, and his wife had gone. "How is Lucius?"

"In shock," Alice said, "He's hardly spoken all day—I've tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault, but he won't listen and I'm at my wits end…"

"Leave him be," Edward said, "I'm sure he'll come around."

Out the nearest window, a cloaked figure carrying a flaming torch caught his eye. "What the?"

Alice went to the window as he ran to Victor, still in the hall. "Where's my wife?"

"She went out the back door while you were talking to Mrs. Hunt."

The warning bell for Those We Do Not Speak Of began to toll, and Edward put a hand to his throbbing temple. "Oh, what the hell is she doing?" he groaned, "Is she insane?"

Victor's eyes grew wide in alarm. "It would be extremely dangerous to move Ivy to the cellar in her condition," he said, "and what of your other daughter?"

"Kitty is asleep—I pray she doesn't wake, but see to her, Victor," he said, "If she awakens, take her to the cellar."

Alice rushed into the hall, joining them. "This was not planned!" she said, "What…"

"Go to Lucius," he said, "He needs you, and we will convene in the morning."

She nodded, quickly making her departure, and as she did he heard Ivy's frail voice through the door. "Poppa?"

He entered her room; she was sitting straight up in bed, her unseeing eyes staring straight ahead. "What is going on? I thought I heard the bell!"

"You did, Ivy."

"Why did you not come for me, so we could go to the cellar?"

"You are not well enough, Ivy, and you need to lay back down." He took her hand. "We'll be safe in this room."

"What about Kitty?"

"I told the doctor to protect her, Ivy."

Shouts from the other villagers once again began to pierce the night sky after a few moments of silence, and Edward rose from his trembling daughter's bedside to see what was going on; after the bell tolled, villagers were not to leave their homes until dawn, so why were they out now?

An orange glow lit the night sky on the eastern edge of the village—all the small trees planted by the children had been set ablaze.

"Poppa," Ivy asked, all traces of fear gone from her voice, "What is going on?"

"There's a fire, Ivy."

"Those We Do Not Speak Of did not invade? Whose house…not Lucius'!?"

"No, not Lucius' house," he said, returning to her side, "No one's house. The trees of the Bad Color are burning."

Ivy's little hand flew to her mouth. "That's terrible!"

Edward frowned, and Ivy's unseeing eyes welled with tears. "Now that pretty blue bird I saw today won't have a home…and I won't ever see it again!"

The night of the fire left the village by Covington Wood in shock, for the events leading up to the "mysterious" fire set by Those We Don't Speak Of left the precocious Ivy blind and talkative Lucius silent. Rumors that Ivy simply told him to be silent and he never uttered another word spread like wild fire, and those led to rumor circulating among the children that Ivy was a witch.

Lucius would have none of that, reprimanding the children for it on a daily basis until the word "witch" wasn't in their vocabulary anymore.

"Maybe I _am_ a witch," Ivy said one day as she and Lucius laid in the field, staring up at the sky.

"You're not a witch. Don't say that."

"Well, it's true you don't talk much anymore," she said, "You haven't even bothered to ask why I 'look' at the sky with you."

"You don't look," he pointed out.

"I like the smell of the grass," she said, "and I love to listen to the birds. You'd be surprised how many different ones there are."

Lucius remained silent.

"Lucius?"

"What?"

"If I tell you something now, will you promise not to tell anyone else?" He nodded, mentally slapping himself for forgetting that a nod wasn't good enough for her.

"Promise."

"I just want to think if you think this is silly, but…" her eyes glistened as she rolled closer, "I see color."

Lucius' eyes grew wide. "Your sight is coming back?!"

"No," she said with a hint of sadness in her voice, "Whether I look at the sky or the grass, everything is black. But…when I look at you, I see the most beautiful color…Do you not think I'm mad?"

"You're not mad."

"Do you not think it silly in the least?"

"It's not silly, Ivy," he whispered, "It's a gift."

She sat in silence for a few moments, running the long grass through her fingers. "Most of our neighbors have dull colors," she said, "like pale greens and browns, but you don't."

He watched her as she spoke; her forehead wrinkled in worry for a moment before she spoke again. "Many in the village are the Bad Color," she said, "Like my father and your mother and the rest of the Elders, and…"

"We should not speak of this," Lucius said, rising to his feet. "Give me your hand, Ivy, and I'll take you home."

"But I do not wish to leave," she said, "I apologize if I made you feel ill at ease…"

Lucius sighed, dropping back down beside her in the grass. He didn't want to leave either, and as he looked to the sky, the bird that Ivy had seen on that fateful day crossed before his eyes.

"Ivy," he said softly, "the bird you saw that day has returned."

"I know," she said, smiling, "It never left."

Alice Hunt helped the Ivy up the stairs of the cellar as she carried the warm, clean bandages in a basket with her other arm. "Is the bird still around?" she asked.

Ivy shrugged. "I'm sure other birds like it are around, I still hear their songs."

"Your father knows much about birds," Alice said, "Have you asked him what kind it is?"

"Of course. At first he said it was a blue bird or a blue jay, but I told him it was brighter than that; that it was like the blue that you can see on the peacock feather that my mother has in her room, and then he knew what it was."

Alice set the basket of bandages down on the table. "Well?"

Ivy smiled. "He said it was an Indigo Bunting."

-The End-


End file.
